Well, Maybe I Lied
by Madame-Mew-Mew
Summary: Matt Miller wants the boss, and gets him.  A possessed car on a rainy night in London lands the boss in Miller's lap.  Yaoi, more to come.


Lorian cursed at his GPS. Where the hell was the bloody thing taking him. He thought he knew the city, London, the place he'd grown up, the first streets he'd known, but a lot can change in ten years.

He was lost, utterly and completely fucking lost. All he'd wanted was a bloody drink, and now he was driving slow through a neighborhood he didn't recognize, and something was going on with his steering.

He cursed again. Why hadn't he taken a taxi? Well largely because they obeyed traffic laws and did their best to avoid the wholesale slaughter of pedestrians, which slowed them down to a pace he found utterly unbearable It was raining and he sure as hell wasn't going to walk, it'd fuck with his hair and makeup, and the London Bobbies were less forgiving than the Stillwater PD when it came to carrying rocket launchers around, but the steering on the goddamned car was just getting worse, it was barely responding to him at all.

Well fuck those bastards at Attrazione anyway. Suddenly, the thing swerved and he found himself in someone's garage.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity buggering fuck," he growled to himself. The car was acting like it was bloody possessed, it was only then that a familiar face appeared.

"Miller, I thought you'd stopped all the computer shit," he said, as the other man approached, flicking his chin length black hair from his eyes.

"Well maybe I lied, but then I heard you were in London„" he said, opening the car door, with a pistol in hand, "don't worry, I'm not out for revenge," he added with a smirk, reaching out to brush graceful fingers over the other man's cheek, tangling them in his long fair hair.

"You bleached your hair, it suits you," he said, enjoying the silky strands sliding through his fingers.

"Just stopped dying it," said the blonde, voice gruff, "what the hell are you after?"

"You," said the former leader of the Deckers, with a lopsided smirk.

"Why?"

"Because I want you ," said Miller simply, "because since I saw you I haven't managed to get you out of my head, and I take what I want."

The boss's brows raised, surprised. "So that's what this is about," he said, tilting his head to the side and giving Miller an appraising look, "didn't know you swung that way."

"I knew with you, a little research and it pops right up," said the dark haired man with a smirk, "you've got quite an interesting history, mister Grey."

Lorian shrugged. "S'pose so," he said, looking the other man up and down.

"That reporter…"

"Jane, yeah that happened, once… ages ago."

"And Angel…"

"He's not my type, that's just a stupid rumor," he said, shaking his head.

Miller gave him a look, stepping closer, cold steel and warm finger tips.

"But I am?" he said.

"Can't say the thought never crossed my mind," said the boss, still in the car, "you can put the gun down, unless you're into that sort of thing, personally I don't mind kinky, but I don't think getting shot makes for great foreplay."

"But if I put down the gun you might not let me top," he said.

"I might not let you— bloody hell," he growled, sliding resignedly out of the car, "right, let's get this over with. Just don't be bloody gentle, I hate it when they're bloody gentle. I don't do flowers or fluffy bunnies and romance," he added, lightly touching his corsetted waist.

"Neither do I," said Miller with a chuckle, "you look good," he added, appraising the other man's attire. He'd dressed practically as if he'd known he'd end up here, corset, fishnets, heels, tight high cut shorts. It wasn't unusual for him, and yet Miller couldn't help but smile.

He touched the blonde's full lower lip, enjoying its plush texture and the gleam of gloss.

"We should go inside," purred the ex-decker, "you're free to leave if you want you know, I may be many things, but rape doesn't tickle my fancy."

The boss just laughed. "If I didn't want it you'd be dead by now," he said, putting an arm round Miller's waist.

"I figured as much," said the raven haired man, "the gun was mostly to prevent you from shooting me on sight, though I'm not sure I'm so easy to kill. Spending time away from a keyboard has done a fair amount to advance my… physical abilities."

Lorian grinned "I'll bet those'll come in handy in more ways than one," he said, raising an eyebrow suggestively, as Miller lead him into a charming flat, pink and black, a modern spin on old world rococo elegance.

"I've matured a bit since we saw one another, you're right about some thing," he said, "Nyte Blade for example."

"I'm surprised you remember," said Lorian, "you still talk too bloody much though."

Miller pulled him in by the choker, and kissed him hard on the mouth. The man tasted of strawberries and sin, slick with gloss. His hair smelled of fall nights, incense, cigarettes and something cool. He tilted his head to the side, pulling him close.


End file.
